


Hello, Goodbye

by flappiedungeon (orphan_account)



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe, Major character death - Freeform, grab bag challenge, johnlockchallenges, sighs, terminal illness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-22
Updated: 2013-01-22
Packaged: 2017-11-26 11:13:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/649921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/flappiedungeon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Prompt</i>: “Hello?... Why is the door open?”</p><p>In which Sherlock Holmes meets and loses John Watson.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hello, Goodbye

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Polski available: [Hello, Goodbye](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1949466) by [KittensAndRage](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KittensAndRage/pseuds/KittensAndRage)



> Written especially for ani-key for the johnlockchallenges grab bag exchange. Hope you like it!
> 
> Prompt: "Hello?... Why is the door open?"

 

Sherlock’s first mistake was underestimating John Watson. It is not a mistake that he repeats ever again.

 

(-day 58)

Lestrade frowns at Sherlock and contemplates hurling himself off the building. Sherlock merely smirks in response, much to his annoyance. Lestrade takes a moment to wonder if he ever did anything so _terrible_ to deserve a life in which he has to babysit a hyperactive and slightly maniacal consulting detective.  
  
“Okay, Sherlock. You may speak to the neighbour, but please, for the love of God, _please_ , be nice.”  
  
“I am appalled that you’re implying I’m anything but nice.”  
  
The lanky git has the nerve to look offended at his statement, and Lestrade mentally reminds himself that he’ll only get into trouble if he strangles the mad genius.  
  
“The neighbour’s name is John Wat—”  
  
“Doctor John Watson, former army doctor. I’m not one of your incompetent idiots, Lestrade. Have some respect.”  
  
Lestrade looks at the window longingly and suppresses the urge to hide in his office for the rest of his existence.

 

(-day 57)

It’s been a ridiculously horrendous week for John Watson. His neighbour was apparently murdered three days ago; the police seem to think that he’s involved in the whole horrid affair, work was insanely busy because it’s the blasted flu season; and now, he comes home, only to find the door of his flat slightly ajar.  
  
All he wants to do is _sleep_ , dammit.  
  
“Hello?... Why is the door open?”  
  
John knows that it’s not a very bright question, or action, if one really thinks about it; but John’s _really_ tired and the rest of the world can go hang for all he cares.  
  
“If you’re robbing me, can you please leave my bed? Take anything you want. Spare my bed.”  
  
John pushes the door open with his feet and resumes his one-sided conversation with his intruder.  
  
“If you’re going to kill me like you did Mrs Langley, could you do it quietly and not stain the carpet? It belongs to Harry.”  
  
“I’ve never heard of robbers stealing beds before.”  
  
John turns and sees his intruder sitting on his couch, looking comfortable and amused. John _hates_ him.  
  
“Then you’ve not lived enough. Who the hell are you?”  
  
“Sherlock Holmes. I have a few questions for you about your deceased neighbour.”  
  
“You’re not here to rob me?”  
  
Sherlock shrugs, getting up from the couch and approaching John carefully.  
  
“Nothing particularly interesting, except the Sig P226 in your floorboard.”  
  
“Are you with the police?”  
  
His intruder scrunches his nose in disgust, not offering any further comment or explanation as to why he broke into John’s flat.  
  
“Can I punch you?”  
  
“I’m sure you can, but I’d rather you not.”  
  
“Mr Holmes, please get out of my flat.”  
  
“I want answers.”  
  
“I want sleep, but we can’t all have what we want.”  
  
“I’m not leaving till I get them.”  
  
John resists the urge to physically throw the posh man out of his flat by picturing his beloved bed.  
  
 _Why won’t you love me, John?_ is what his bed asks him.  
  
“You won’t be able to sleep anyway, what with your nightmares and all. Which begs the question, Afghanistan or Iraq?”  
  
John feels a flare of anger over the question and the blatant disregard of his wishes, but curiosity wins the better part of him.  
  
“How did you know that? If you’re not with the poli—”  
  
“Please. Just look at you. It’s so obvious.”  
  
“I’m making myself a cuppa. You’re going to sit on the couch and I don’t want to hear a peep from you till I’m done with my tea.”  
  
“But—”  
  
John glares at his intruder, promising a thousand violent deaths that the stranger will face if his words are not taken seriously.  
  
A satisfied nod is directed towards the curly-haired madman in his living room when said madman moves towards the couch, mumbling petulantly to himself.  
  
John makes his way to the kitchen and doesn’t bother to cover his yawn.

 

(-day 57)

“That’s incredible. I’m torn between wanting to commend your brilliance and wanting to punch you in the face.”  
  
“Really?” Sherlock asks, seemingly unable to comprehend the doctor’s reply.  
  
“Honestly? That’s fantastic. Though I would have appreciated it if you didn’t break into my flat.”  
  
“Dull.”  
  
“You’re a prat.”  
  
“Your flat is ugly.”  
  
“It is.”  
  
“221B Baker Street. Together we should be able to afford it.”  
  
“Oh god, I am _so_ sleep-deprived. I’m hearing things.”  
  
“Tomorrow at four.”  
  
“Are you even real?”  
  
“Don’t poke me.”  
  
“Are you kidding me, Mr Holmes?”  
  
“Sherlock. And I am not _kidding_ you.” The last part of the sentence was said with disdain, though John’s happy to let that slide.  
  
“If I flatshare with you, that will be the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever done.”  
  
“And you invaded Afghanistan.”  
  
For the first time in months, John giggles. He finally feels like he’s not suffocating anymore.

 

(-day 30)

Sherlock learns what it’s like to have a friend. Someone to care about him, someone for him to care about. It is a strange feeling that the self-proclaimed sociopath didn’t quite expect.

 

(-day 26)

John falls ill. Sherlock worries but doesn’t show. John’s the doctor. The healer. Sherlock sneers at John when the doctor lies on the couch shivering. John awakes with a blanket covering his whole body. John thanks Sherlock by not complaining about the experiments for two and a half days. (The stray thumb found in John’s mug was the last straw.)

 

(-day 14)

John’s not Moriarty. Sherlock realizes that a semtex-wrapped John Watson is nauseating. The thought of John Watson in danger and at risk is unacceptable.

 

(-day 13)

Sherlock tells John to get out of the flat. John tells Sherlock to get out of his sight. John is pale and irritable again, and Sherlock worries for his only friend.  
  
“I don’t want you here anymore. You’re an idiot and you distract me.”  
  
In retaliation, John throws a pillow (or three) at Sherlock’s face.

 

(-day 13)

Sherlock concludes that his _Get Rid Of John Watson For His Own Good_ plan will not work. Mainly because the army doctor is now part of Sherlock’s work, and just _imagining_ a life without his “live-in PA” makes him feel uncomfortable. Sherlock takes a moment to curse himself for having feelings; (he shudders at that word and pours hydrochloric acid on some dead person’s limbs to make himself feel better); and treasures the knowledge that John thrives on danger, much like himself.

 

(-day 6)

John is violently ill. But John remains stubborn and refuses to see a doctor.  
  
“I can very well diagnose myself and I’m fine. Sod off or I’ll puke on you.”  
  
Sherlock feels a violent urge to just _shake_ the man for reasons yet to be determined.

 

(-day 2)

John collapses at a crime scene.

 

(-day 1)

John undergoes some tests. Sherlock _knows_ that something is terribly wrong and it terrifies him. He catches John looking at him, and when he looks into the blue eyes, he realizes that John knows, too.

 

(day 0)

John has pancreatic carcinoma. Cancer of the pancreas. Six months to live. John wants to wake up but it’s not a dream. It’s reality. It’s a death sentence.  
  
Sherlock is nowhere to be found.

 

(day 2)

John comes home. The door is open.  
  
“Why is the door open?” He asks softly.  
  
Sherlock is sitting on the couch, eyes wild and darting about with guilt.  
  
“John. John, I—”  
  
“Do you want me to move out?” John rasps.  
  
 _i’m dying i’m dying sherlock you weren’t there where were you where you’re my best friend what was more important sherlock i’m dying i don’t want sherlock help me i’m dying sherlock_  
  
Sherlock looks like he’s been slapped. Punched. Beaten and left to suffer. For the second time in John’s life, he sees Sherlock looking human. Vulnerable and almost defeated.  
  
John doesn’t want to understand, but he does. He knows why Sherlock wasn’t there. He hates that his arrogant, impulsive, and ridiculous flatmate will be alone again. He hates that he cares when he should be completely selfish right now.  
  
They’ve only just met, the two puzzle pieces that completely fit, but they don’t have time.  
  
John _hates_ it.

 

(day 2)

He’s feels like he’s drowning, because his reliable and much-needed life jacket in the form of John Watson is being snatched away from him. Leaving him helpless and floundering to keep himself afloat.  
  
He didn’t even know how much he needed it, but when he’s just starting to appreciate it, it’s taken away from him.  
  
Sherlock _hates_ it.

 

(day 6)

John makes a list. It’s a bucket list, apparently. A list of things to do before one kicks the bucket. John and Sherlock both giggle over it like the overgrown kids that they are, and when Mrs Hudson tells them how inappropriate they are being, with her wise and bright eyes, they laugh even more. It seemed fitting, somehow.

 

(day 10)

John fulfills Item 17 on his list with Sherlock’s assistance.  
  
 _Get Anderson locked in a room full of dinosaur figures cause Anderson’s a prat who is scared senseless around them. And he’s dumb._  
  
Nope. Definitely not Sherlock’s idea.

 

(day 12)

John starts the first round of chemo, suffering through excruciating pain. Lestrade, for the first time, sees a Sherlock Holmes who is in fear. He sees the desperation in the eyes of the detective before they are quickly masked with indifference. Lestrade wishes that he has the ability to delete that moment from his mind, because that desperation is simply _heartbreaking_.

 

(day 24)

John crosses off Item 4 on his list with glee.  
  
 _Make Sherlock laugh till he cries._  
  
There is a brief moment when John is reminded that there will be a time when he won’t be able to make his best friend laugh anymore, and it crushes him. But John shakes the thought away and snaps a picture of Sherlock gasping for breath.  
  
Sherlock tries to burn the picture because he’s a diva. He doesn’t succeed because John Watson.  
  
That’s enough reason, don’t you think?

 

(day 53)

John lies on his bed, bundled up with layers of blankets. He’s shivering terribly, and Sherlock has never felt so helpless. Sherlock uses the back of his hand to feel if John’s fever has in any way cooled down, but John’s burning up instead.  
  
“Shlock.”  
  
“Sherlock,” he corrects automatically.  
  
John offers him a weak smile that only serves to hurt Sherlock more.  
  
“Cold.”  
  
Sherlock moves from the chair by John’s bed and climbs onto the bed. He wraps his arms around John’s smaller body and moves John’s head so that it’s resting on his chest.  
  
“Sorry.”  
  
“Don’t.”  
  
When John’s breathing evens out, Sherlock stares into the darkness and tries to imagine a world without John.  
  
It merely makes him feel sick and terrified.  
  
 _John, don’t leave me here with these idiots._

(day 67)

John solves a case by himself and is really proud of his achievement.  
  
Sherlock tries to feel the same, but fails.  
  
 _Solve a case by myself without Sherlock’s infuriating brilliance. Brag about it forever._  
  
It’s not that he isn’t proud, but it feels like he’s stabbing himself with a knife each time his subconscious tells him that John could do _so_ much more if they had more time.  
  
Time is their enemy.  
  
John crosses out Item 2 off his list with a wide grin plastered on his face. Sherlock is just thankful for the fact that John doesn’t notice how his smile seems forced.

 

 

 

 

(day 80)

Sherlock and John spend the day watching telly. Neither of them are actually _watching_ it, per se, because they're both worrying for the other.

In that moment, they're happy to be able to spend such precious time together. They're content with the time that they have. One of the two sentences is a lie they keep telling themselves.

 

(day 92)

Day 92 is Harry’s 90th alcohol-free day. It’s a cause for celebration, and John is able to strike out Item 9 of his list. They toast to Harry’s recovery with milk and cookies. Mycroft somehow invites himself and for some strange, scary reason, Mycroft and Harry get along very well.  
  
Sherlock and John spend the next few days in absolute terror.

(day 120)

John has been losing a lot of weight from the extensive chemotherapy and extreme loss of appetite. John eats so little, so much so that Sherlock has convinced himself that he’s a glutton who’s lost all control of his body, because he eats _more_ than John.  
  
The horror.  
  
John throws a pillow at Sherlock. It only reaches Sherlock’s feet.  
  
Sherlock tries to hide his disappointment by launching into a rant about the idiots of Scotland Yard. He wonders if he’s lost his sanity, because he’s never wanted to be hit in the face with a pillow quite so much.

 

(day 136)

“Why the hell is the door open?” Sherlock yells.  
  
He stomps into John’s room and stops dead in his tracks when he sees a puppy by John’s side.  
  
“No.”  
  
“Yes. Sherlock, meet Gladstone. Gladstone, this is Sherlock.”  
  
“No. Getting a puppy? Taken off the list.”  
  
“Don’t mind him, Gladstone. He’s a grumpy old man.”  
  
Gladstone sniffs Sherlock’s feet and is immediately attached to his other owner.  
  
“Traitor.”  
  
Number 26 is crossed off as well.

 

(day 185)

John is still alive. The thing is, they just don’t know how much time he has left.

 

(day 221)

John can’t leave his bed anymore. Sherlock only leaves John’s side to get what John needs. The Work suffers, but Sherlock can’t find it in himself to abandon John.  
  
After all, John Watson is part of his work.

 

(day 222)

John has a dream. It’s his funeral, and Sherlock looks _wrecked_. He tries to make Sherlock laugh, even mocking Sherlock so that the detective will curse him with his extensive vocabulary. But Sherlock can’t hear him. He can’t hear John comforting him, telling him that everything will be okay even if everything is just wrong, awful, and... _wrong_.  
  
It makes John cry.

 

(day 224)

“I don’t want to die.”  
  
“I know.”  
  
“Sherlock.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Will you be okay after I’m gone?”  
  
“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard you say, John. Really. Congratulations. I will have Mycroft make you an award.”  
  
“I want you to be okay.”  
  
“If you want that, you won’t leave in the first place.”  
  
“It’s not my decision to make.”  
  
“Do I make a deal with the Devil, then?”  
  
“People usually go to God first.”  
  
“I’m not people. You’re not either.”  
  
“Sherlock, you’re my best friend.”  
  
“I know.”  
  
“I want you to be happy.”  
  
After John dozes off in Sherlock’s arms, Sherlock whispers something in John’s ear.  
  
He hopes that John will hear him. He hopes that John won’t.  
  
He hopes.

 

(day 230)

Sherlock says goodbye to John by giving him a quick kiss on his cheek. John is smiling when he closes his eyes.

 

(day 232)

It’s the day of the funeral. Sherlock comes home to an empty 221B. There is an envelope on the table. Sherlock’s name is written on it with John’s familiar handwriting.  
  
In it is a flash drive and a key.  
  
Sherlock turns on John’s laptop and inserts the flash drive accordingly.  
  
John’s face appears (it’s John from day 186, Sherlock’s mind helpfully supplies) and he’s smiling. Sherlock’s heart hurts. His eyes are stinging and everything _hurts_.  
  
He won’t see John’s face anymore. No more John telling him he’s amazing, or that he’s a complete prat for boiling toenails in the pot. No John Watson laughing _at_ him for his random bouts of insanity (the ones not involving explosions), or giggling _with_ him inappropriately at crime scenes.  
  
No one to stand by his side as he faces the world that is constantly against him.  
  
He’s alone and he doesn’t feel protected. He feels lost and he hates himself for feeling that way.  
  
He curses Mrs Langley, her murderer, and everyone else for letting him meet John Watson.  
  
He thanks Mrs Langley, her murderer, and everyone else for letting him meet the one person who suited him best, who never asked him to change.  
  
He wants John back.  
  
John is looking at him through the laptop screen.  
  
“Hey there, crazy.”  
  
John’s tone is fond. Sherlock memorizes every detail, and it doesn’t bother him that John managed to do this without his knowledge.  
  
His best friend is _amazing_.  
  
“So. I... uh. Don’t know how to go about doing this. Uhm... do you have the list with you?”  
  
Sherlock nods, reaching for the list from his suit’s breast pocket. Close to his heart.  
  
John rummages the mess on his bedside table and his triumphant smile as he locates the list makes Sherlock smile.  
  
“18 out of 26 of the list is accomplished, yes? Now. Sherlock. I need you to do me a favour. I need you to help me finish all the stuff on this list, okay? That is my mission for you.”  
  
John looks sad for a moment before giving Sherlock another grin.  
  
“Sherlock, it’s okay for you to grieve. It’s human. And you’re the most human... human being that I’ve ever had the privilege of knowing. I’m sorry that I went where you can’t follow. I’m sorry. I’m sorry that the time we had together was— was so short. But you helped me accomplish all that I needed, Sherlock, and I can never thank you enough. You... you’re my best friend, Sherlock Holmes. My partner-in-crime, my maniacal consulting detective, my everything.”  
  
John swallows and Sherlock doesn’t move to wipe his tears away. He’s not in control of his emotions anymore. John is.  
  
John was.  
  
It’s confusing.  
  
“So, for the last time, _my_ last time, Mr Holmes, would you join me in this insane mission?”  
  
The key Sherlock holds in his right hand is the same key that John’s holding in his. Sherlock can tell that it’s the next vital clue that John has prepared for this game of theirs.  
  
Sherlock misses John so bloody much already, and it’s barely been two days.  
  
John’s grin is mischievous and secretive, and Sherlock adores him for it.  
  
“Sherlock Holmes, the game, is _on_.”

**Author's Note:**

> PS: Did you know that you'll get a cookie if you click the 'kudos' thingy? Cause you will. It's an imaginary one that I offer from the nicest part of my dark and miserable soul. Thanks for reading! /runs off/


End file.
